Halcyon, Ricochet
by IvyXLacrimosa
Summary: Sentenced by Central 46 after the end of the Winter War, Ichigo realized how wrong everything still is. After all, when one's soul is pulled apart at the strings, putting it back together makes them realize how little is true. All that's left is to fix it. [AU from Aizen's defeat, GEN]
1. Soundless Execution

**Halcyon, Ricochet**

Sentenced by Central 46 after the end of the War, Ichigo realized how wrong everything still is. After all, when one's soul is pulled apart at the strings, putting it back together makes them realize how little is true. All that's left is to fix it. ● AU from Aizen's defeat, GEN●

● Ichigo-Centric AU No Pairing Action Drama Angst Psychological Friendship Hurt/Comfort Adventure ●

T for Language and Violence

* * *

**Chapter One**

**_Soundless Execution_**

* * *

**Fake Karakura Town, Following the Defeat of Aizen**

Rash ferocity and protectiveness were part of his personality, and whether or not it was a blessing or a major flaw depended on the situation. It also relied on the consequence his actions brought forth. Luckily for Kurosaki Ichigo, these repercussions only ever affected him, and not those that surrounded him.

He didn't know if he could live with himself if someone he cared for be it family, friend, comrade or even an innocent soul was caught in the crosshairs of his mistakes. Though in contradiction to that thought, he'd live through his mistakes if it meant he'd be the only one that was hurt. As it was, he could barely keep himself to succumbing to the horrified grief that he was feeling at the moment.

It matched quite well with the way that he was literally drowning within his own mind right now, and his lungs flooded with desperation and water that weighed him down further. Yet he could still breathe, still scream in a torrent of bubbles that clouded his vision and only fueled his panic. They brushed along his face like soothing fingers attempting to wipe at invisible tears that only added to the ocean that was swallowing him whole.

His heart—no his very _soul_—was burning, ripping itself apart slowly, the cruelest kind of torture that added to what he was watching. His hearts stuttering and erratic pulse sent waves of pain through his limbs, and fatigue that he'd probably never get rid of pierced through him to his core.

At first, his mantra had gone something along the lines of _Aizen is done for_, and he'd repeated it over and over again, sometimes out loud, a whisper, a shout, or a whimper. His throat was raw with the taste of salt and dry screams, even if it appeared as if the opposite should be true, because he was drowning in a dark sea. It was just a manifestation of grief though, miles upon miles of tears that had rained down on his inner world sometime in the last hour. It had all happened so quickly, deteriorated so fast.

Yet now, his mantra had become something that was less reassurance and more desperate denial. His hands reached, limbs thrashed, but no matter how much effort he put into moving he stayed in place. He was weighed down by some invisible, cruel gravity that probably gained merciless satisfaction at his pain.

_I don't want it to be like this!_

He'd known—or maybe just heard—the backlash his decision to use the Final Getsuga Tenshou would have. His mind had understood the grim end result of defeating Aizen with that last, overwhelming power. But his heart—_soul_— had not comprehended the loss it would soon have to endure.

Now he was breaking, he could feel it. A wild madness fueled his struggles, and even if his screams created a cloud that cloaked his vision, he could not stop his voice from calling out again and again. Ichigo had never felt so completely and utterly _alone _in his life.

"Zangetsu!" He roared, whirling as he caught sight of a dark shadow moving through the water. Yet just like all the other ones he saw, they weren't anything but shifting apparitions, left over from the presence of Ichigo's true Zanpakutō. Branded behind his eyelids, Ichigo could feel the haunting, resigned stare of gray eyes the color of storm clouds.

The Substitute Shinigami could almost hear that familiar voice, wizened and soft despite the younger form Zangetsu had taken. Solemnity rang from every word of the farewell that had been spoken, and that moment was the calm before the storm. Yet, it was Ichigo who would be the storm, and Zangetsu's words were merely the winds that ushered it in.

Ichigo remembered his breath halting in his chest, how every ounce of his being and focus had poured into watching his Zanpakutō fade before his very eyes. A piece of his soul evaporating in a mix of black and gold Reiatsu and shifting shapes, Ichigo knew he'd quite literally been ripped in two. Possibly three, but at the time, Ichigo hadn't really thought about the missing presence of his Hollow side, as it had become a part of Zangetsu quite some time ago.

Funny how much it hurt, the concept of _knowing _something's wrong. Despite the feeling of ice hollowing out his insides—expanding and melting and gnawing him apart—the emotion that came along once he knew what was happening and what he was missing was worse.

He knew he'd exhausted every ounce of his energy, pulled everything out to overcome the Hōgyoku infused Aizen. He had been told that he'd lose Zangetsu because of it, and, like most things Ichigo had done in his life, he stepped forward without considering the risk to help his friends.

How ignorant he was. How foolishly blinded by his instinct to protect and keep every bit of the burden on his own shoulders, pulling and fighting until he broke. Even then Aizen had mostly been sealed away by Kisuke and his Kido. Could he have been sealed away without Ichigo resorting to throwing everything on a trump card?

Probably, but then again, when the answer isn't certain, Ichigo never could accept it.

So he'd thrown away his Zanpakutō, his Shinigami abilities, and now he was empty. Hollow. How ironic that was, that he felt more _hollow_ now that his inner Hollow had vanished along with Zangetsu.

It really wasn't funny though. No, how could it be, when his every thought was of pulsing aches, this feeling of emptiness, and the sober loneliness that came from no longer hearing those voices. It hadn't been that long of a stretch, but the time in which those last words echoed _hurt_.

_"Stop looking so sad," _the dark haired spirit had murmured, reaching out with a slightly devastated expression on his face. Even as his form had wavered, Zangetsu had never stopped thinking, never stopped helping Ichigo.

_"You struck down Aizen. You protected everyone you cared about, so why do you look so sad? Don't make me regret my decision Ichigo, because all I ever wanted to do was protect you, and keep you from harm. Don't make a face that makes me feel as if I've failed."_

Ichigo had that last image burned into his eyes, as his Zanpakutō, his partner, quite literally the other half of his soul, faded out of existence. Disappearing from his line of sight and evaporating into nothing.

_"Ichigo."_

In a sort of surreal moment, the sea around Ichigo had thinned, as if expanding with the deepest breath ever taken. When reality struck the orange haired boy though, so did the weight of the water around him. It crashed down like a tidal wave, a storm of deep, sporadic chaos that tried to drag him under.

Eventually, he let it.

Because there was nothing left, and he was so _hollow_, and it was so easy to simply _let go_ now that everyone was safe, and he was so tired—

"Ichigo, wake up, Ichigo!"

The voice shook his mind awake even as a pair of arms tried to shake life into his limbs. He blinked open his eyes suddenly, as if he'd merely been daydreaming with his eyes closed, and not asleep on his feet. Consciousness flooded his thoughts, rather than the way he'd been silently reliving that moment over and over as Kisuke had dealt with what was left of Aizen.

It took a moment for his eyes to clear, to pull that haze of fatigue out of the way, and by then, the man in front of him was watching him quietly and observantly. The shadow that was cast over curiously frightened green eyes flecked in gray made Ichigo focus, noticing something familiar about the face coming into sharp clarity before him. It was another moment, after Ichigo had taken into account the man's blond hair and familiar striped hat that he blinked; a second after meeting the gaze, he was assaulted with a scattering of memories, and recognition flooded through him.

"Kisuke," he responded, his voice quiet and slow, like a sleepwalker coming back to reality. His eyes felt heavy, and his limbs were numb with the weight of the emptiness he felt. Funny how contradicting it was, but every thought he had bounced around in extra space, an unpleasant sensation that sent a shiver up his spine. He swayed lightly, as if his own weight was too great a burden to carry, but quickly righted himself.

It was still a habit, one so deeply ingrained that he didn't even realize he had it, to cover up those little hitches and discomforted glances that cued others into his pain. Ichigo didn't need to be fussed over. He needed to _sleep_.

The man in front of him noticed, but didn't seem to want to ask the question that was trapped behind his tightly pursed lips. His brow furrowed as the orange haired boy looked away to the desolate and barren rock that Ichigo's final battle with Aizen had taken place. It was dead, and other than them, fittingly empty. The wind around them picked up the last remains of dust and smoke, swirling them around in a wild haze that made Ichigo's eyes burn and water.

He didn't blink.

Heavy silence sat between the two, and Ichigo could feel Kisuke's shoulders tense further every passing moment. This sort of silence was unfamiliar territory for Ichigo too, but he couldn't bring himself to open his lips and say anything. As odd as it felt to simply let the man holding him up continue to tense, Ichigo did nothing to cure Kisuke's worry. Was there even a point to it?

Eventually, his lips twisted, and he turned to meet the eyes of the blond in front of him, who was watching with a strange mix of relief and wariness. Yet, his face was still set in that expressionless mask, and Ichigo wondered if his former mentor's eyes had always been this easy to read, like an open book. Then again, Ichigo never really paused long enough to look that hard.

"Aizen?" Ichigo questioned softly, because, really, there was nothing else he needed to—or could— say. Kisuke understood the message he was trying to get across, and his lips tilted in a soft smirk as he nodded at Ichigo. Under a bit of hardness that had always blanketed the blonde's eyes, there was a bit of worried warmth, and, deeper than that, something he thought was akin to pride.

It hit Ichigo then. It really was over. There was no need to run, scramble, and, most importantly and life altering, no need to fight.

Every bit of strength that remained in him faded at those thoughts, and Ichigo suddenly felt restless. What was one to do when so many had relied on him for his strength, depended on him to use his power to take down the enemy that had risen against Soul Society? Ichigo pondered as his eyes grew heavy again, aching to close, and he finally thought he knew the answer.

He was hollow, and of no use, so they wouldn't need him anymore. The thought was a relief and it was painful, for with the taste of solitude that had come with Zangetsu destruction, he'd also faltered over an obstacle that seemed so small after everything he'd gone through.

There was a hint of unease in his confidence, which had been so strong before, and for the first time, Ichigo felt young and human. At the same time, he still felt so much older than even Kisuke who stood before him, because if he were to try and explain the feeling carving its way through him—a slow and everlasting poison—it would take the rest of his human life.

"That's… good," Ichigo murmured, sight growing hazy as he felt his knees buckle under his weight. A weightless feeling flooded through him, and his extremities tingled with what felt like the remains of his Reiatsu. Resigned and tired, Ichigo only smiled lightly as the man in front of him was forced to catch him as he fell, though Ichigo still had the rightness of mind to thank Kisuke for not fumbling and pulling Ichigo more upright.

Kisuke's voice, quiet, but still as frantic as anyone could be in the uncertainty of the situation, grew steadily dimmer. Ichigo felt his eyes fall shut, a curtain draw over his eyes to keep him from seeing his friends. He was sure that it wouldn't rise anytime soon. There was a sense of finality to the wave of lassitude that pulled his lids shut, something Ichigo was unfamiliar with, but greeted happily at that moment, because despite the fact that he felt alone, he wanted to _be_ alone.

The backs of his eyes were white, and the light buzzing that had overpowered Kisuke's voice faded into nothing. Ichigo knew somewhere in his aching head and heart that he wouldn't be able to see anything about the Shinigami world when he opened his eyes, and he was okay with that. There really wasn't much left for him at this point, and not being able to see what he'd lost made the hollow pain in him ache a little less.

* * *

**Underground Assembly Hall of Central 46, Underground Seireitei, Soul Society**

The most surprising thing to Ichigo upon waking up was in fact the familiarity of the air around him. He could taste the amount or Reiatsu permanently touching the air, and even if he couldn't pick apart any distinct traces, the sheer volume of energy could only mean one thing.

He was in Soul Society.

That alone was enough to make him open his eyes, though it was not without struggle or weariness. As he settled into the idea that he was in fact actually seeing a solid structure above his head, clean other than the thin rather useless soft lights hanging from it, he blinked again.

It was easier for him to think now. Maybe it was because there was _so much _around him that it made up for that ache still pulsing quietly behind his collarbone, or maybe it was because of the pain—_hot, burning, real_— etching its way into his skin.

His head rolled forward from where it had rested on the back of something (a chair, maybe?) and he met the gazes of a rather large group of people. There were similar in not only their way of dress, a strangely formal version of a Shinigami Shihakushō, but also in the age on their faces and in every pair of steady and hard eyes focused on him.

Confusion flitted through him, and he felt his brow furrow just ever so slightly, though he couldn't seem to come up with any words. Attempting to move, though not sure what he was trying to do, because his head was still so silent, he found he couldn't.

Looking down, he realized why.

The chair he was in was heavy, with sturdy, clean, and impressive features gleaming almost eagerly at the tired teenager. The shining spots were sharp and tiny though, because around his arms, torso, and legs, were hovering, black bands that pulsed with hot Reiatsu, flaring and tightening every time he attempted to move.

"What," he rasped out, exhaling a painful rattling sound as he lifted his shocked and confused gaze back up to those seated above and around him. The realization that there was not a single familiar face in the room dawned on him then, as well as the heavy, contempt filled silence.

"Kurosaki Ichigo," began one of the six seated at the highest point in the rows of people. "Substitute Shinigami of Karakura Town, aged sixteen." Eyes flickering up from whatever she'd been looking at, the woman in the middle, the one who'd spoken, studied Ichigo.

"Why am I here?" He snapped out, some of his old brashness coming back in the startling situation. Looking at the faces again, he noticed how pleased each and every one of them looked, relaxed like a cat that had just finished a satisfying meal.

The thought was rather disturbing, so Ichigo found himself running through possibilities. The last thing he remembered was Kisuke, a battlefield settling with heavy dust and fading Reiatsu, and—

Swallowing shakily, he pressed his lips together, inhaling through his nose and attempting to ignore the way his shoulder and chest ached at the thoughts he was avoiding. Attempting to focus on anything else, he met the old woman's eyes.

"It is quite impressive," she murmured, flipping through something in her hands. From this angle he couldn't see what it was, a folder maybe? "That after using up enough Reiryoku to nearly kill yourself and shatter your Zanpakutō you are still alive and able to recover so quickly."

Slow moving restlessness and anger hovered at the tips of his fingers, especially at the mention of Zangetsu, but Ichigo swallowed it down. "How long?" he mumbled, not realizing he was speaking. "How long have I been… asleep?"

Thoughts that were comforting in their familiarity flitted through his head, that natural tendency to abandon thoughts about himself in the place of worries for others taking over. He thought about his sister's (when had he last seen them?) and where his friends had ended up. He thought about the dying Ichimaru Gin he'd left behind at one point and his—_Shinigami_—father, defeated and passed out.

It was several moments later that he was shaken from his worried thoughts, by the calm and authority filled voice of that same woman. "You've been in somewhat of a comatose state long enough for us to take the necessary steps to prevent us from being interrupted," she responded cryptically tone detached and bored sounding.

Turning his head, Ichigo noticed that the semi-circle of raised seating and his chair were the only things in the large, looming room. Darkness peered down at him from the top of a set of endless stairs, both pointlessly long and infuriatingly intimidating.

Past the shadows at the peak of the staircase, there was a door, closed and mocking him.

"Do not think you could ever even get out of that chair, child," the man next to the old woman sneered, lips curling in disgust. "You are bound by the highest levels of Bakudō and are beneath the sacred ground of Central 46 Headquarters. No one has permission to impede on our business unannounced and without our permission, and even with your sword, you would be powerless."

Holding back the part of him that deflated at the thought of his missing Zanpakutō , Ichigo turned back around to meet the man's gaze, and his lips moved before he thought about his words.

"So even without my powers, you think you are weak enough to need to bind me?" It was a quiet comment, one that was both scolding and fatigued. Once again, people within the confines of Seireitei overestimated him. Kurosaki Ichigo, the boy who saved Kuchiki Rukia from execution, broke into Soul Society, defeated numerous Captains, and took down a man out to become God.

Yet suddenly, he felt more tired than he ever had before.

"Insolent boy!" snapped a dark haired woman next to the man, face growing dark. "Do not belittle the noble causes of the Central 46. We do what we do to protect Soul Society, and you cannot understand the magnitude of our importance.

_Protect?_

Ichigo blinked once at them. "What the hell does binding me to a chair have to do with _protecting _anything?" Almost as if anticipating the answer before his mind could, that ache in his chest sharpened again, and the comforting weight of energy around him couldn't make up for what was missing _in _him.

The older woman who had first spoken looked down upon him, folding her hands together as her wrinkled lips pulled up in a shrewd smile, and her expression was one that would be used when informing a child something they were oblivious to.

"Well, my dear," she soothed, leaning forward and setting her elbows on the desk. "I'm afraid that when it comes to protecting the interests of the Soul King and the rest of Soul Society, you are actually very important."

Ichigo almost bit back a sarcastic remark, mostly because he was irritated at the way the Bakudō straps were digging into his skin, but then he realized what she was implying, and what the chair he was strapped to really meant.

He felt his breath halt, hovering around in his chest and stinging like the throbbing ache in his shoulder. Disbelief and a bit of incredulity widened his eyes, and the room suddenly felt bigger with the forty-six pairs of eyes assessing him like a pinned butterfly, magnificent and powerless.

"I see you realize what that means for you," the man who'd spoken earlier drawled. He more than anyone else seemed rather disgusted at the orange haired boy sitting on the floor below, and his mocking words showed it. "Maybe you aren't as foolishly naïve as we first expected."

Eyes still wide, Ichigo instinctively jerked at the straps binding his arms, face twisting in a visceral reaction as they cut into his numbing arms. Trembling from the effort that it took to keep his arms from lashing out again, Ichigo grit his teeth.

"What have I ever done but help Soul Society? What could you possibly think I would do to hurt any of you?" He snapped, anger, more icy than his typical reckless fire, fueled his tired but vehement words. "I fought with the Shinigami against Aizen, I _defeated_ Aizen!"

The man looked as if he wanted to say something, and, from the rather extreme curl of his lip, it would have been both insulting and rude. Yet the woman beside him waved a hand as if to ebb his anger, and stared down at Ichigo with a rather soft and resigned gaze.

"We do not doubt that you were a great asset to the Gotei 13 and Soul Society during the Winter War, especially when it came to the Arrancar and Aizen himself," she soothed, voice quiet enough that you had to strain to hear her, making her words that much more powerful. "Yet the extent to which you pushed your abilities as a Shinigami—while being a human, no less—are unnatural. It say the least, you should have either died, or lost complete ability to see us upon your collapse after Aizen's capture."

Growing dread bubbled in Ichigo's stomach, and in the back of his mind, his heartbeat echoed desperately, trying to fill the steadily growing silence that was becoming hard to ignore.

"You possessed the abilities of a Shinigami, that I do not doubt," she announced, rising from her seat. Electric anticipation seemed to fill the rest of the members of Central 46 as she moved, as if they wanted to join her. "But using them in such a way as to cause your Zanpakutō to disintegrate, and still be able to tolerate the extremes within this building…"

She trailed off, walking down to him with a smooth grace that belied her aged face. Her steps were silent, and, the closer she got, the stronger a sharp, prickling Reiatsu became to his senses, fierce and volatile.

"You retain your abilities, and while that in itself is shocking but not threatening, it is what caused it that is," she murmured as she came to stand before him, a tiny old woman who's hair was as ice white as Hitsugaya's or Ukitake's . The tips of her fingers shone the same color the same color as the Bakudō around him, and the spell pulsed releasing for a moment only to pin him down completely, so that he couldn't even breathe.

"Your defeat of Aizen caused a backlash of the Hōgyoku's absorbed energy. It was a quick thing, and no one within the Fake Karakura Town constructed for the battle was affected… other than you." The confusion in his eyes, bright despite the fact that his lungs burned as if he'd been underwater too long, caught her attention.

"At the end, when you forced your Reiatsu into that final form," she informed him, reaching out. "The Hōgyoku responded to you, attempting to mimic the strongest will as its wielder's will crumbled. Urahara Kisuke was able to seal the mostly destroyed and useless Hōgyoku within Aizen, but pieces of it flared out during the backlash of power."

Her hand settled just under his collarbone, where that ache of emptiness he'd had since Zangetsu's departure was centered. It flared under her touch, and he choked on a breath that he'd never taken, hissing quietly.

"One of these slivers touched you," she whispered, finger jabbing at the nerve in his neck above his collar, causing him to involuntarily arch his back as a flare of familiar white blue light flickered to life. The riveted and eager gazes of the Central 46 members behind her were disturbing, gleaming smiles in the background, and he turned his horrified eyes away just in time to see a devilish smile.

It felt as if needles were piercing his bones, an icy fire that poked at every nerve and joint, and with his muscles still frozen in the Bakudō, he was left staring into her cold, fascinated eyes as a pained haze enveloped his mind.

"While it is basically useless in pieces, the reality is the remaining fragment of the Hōgyoku within you managed to shelter and save a bit of your Reiryoku, as impossible and illogical as that sounds. Taking into consideration the quick decline of sanity within Aizen Sōsuke, especially since the Hōgyoku's shattering, we, the Central 46, have come to a decision."

Her hand retreated, and, rising up to her full, meager height, the old woman folded her hands behind her back smiling down at him.

"As we cannot remove the Hōgyoku from you without causing a reaction that would kill you and endanger ourselves, we have decided something that will ensure Soul Society no longer has to worry about Urahara Kisuke's vile invention."

She ended there, standing over him with that smile that glinted sharper than any blade Ichigo had ever been struck with, merciless and unrelenting. Unable to fully comprehend what was happening, Ichigo stuttered out a breath when the Bakudō loosened, temples aching, head hollow, and mind tired.

"Kurosaki Ichigo," the man from earlier said, causing the orange haired boy to let his head turn to the side in response. A pair of cold black eyes stared down at him. "Due to your instability and infection with the Hōgyoku, Central 46 has concluded that you are a danger to both the Human World and Soul Society."

Out of instinctual alertness, the boy's gaze flickered back to the old woman, who was reaching out again, this time for his neck. Veins under his skin became visible as he strained to pull his head away from her, with little success. This only seemed to amuse her.

"Until you are deemed both free from the Hōgyoku and safe to be returned to the Human World, you will remain sealed with Reiryoku Suppressors and kept within the Maggots Nest."

Before Ichigo even think to try and say something in reply, the old woman's icy hand touched his throat, and his vision exploded in a blur of black and gold, before he finally succumbed to darkness.

* * *

**Captain's Assembly Hall, First Division Barracks, Seireitei, Soul Society**

"Before I go into what I have brought you here to tell you, let me say this: these decisions are final, and have been made by not only myself but all those who have recently taken the spots of the former Central 46 on recommendation from the Zero Division. Any who oppose these decisions and continue to speak in outright defiance will be punished swiftly and without consideration."

The words that greeted the remaining Captains of the Gotei 13 had each and every one of them tensing. The Captain Commander sat in his usual spot, unrelenting and solemn despite the fact that he was just as injured if not more than some of them, especially with his newly missing arm. Now more than ever, the three empty spots in the room were painfully obvious, especially since the Lieutenants that had been filling in for the rogue Captains hadn't been allowed into the meeting.

Despite solemn faces, nervous, anxious energy was potent, especially around Unohana Retsu, who appeared as if she wanted to leave badly. The Fourth Division and its Captain had been at work for days now, as the rest of the able bodied Shinigami had gone to work trying to rebuild a semblance of order within Seireitei. All looked as if they'd suffered from lack of sleep, and it was very evident on Ukitake Jūshirō's pale face, as he'd gone straight to work after being dismissed from a reluctant Unohana's care.

Now the Captains' wished for little more than a moment of peace, but as the Captain-Commander's declaration was spoken, they knew they'd be getting little rest.

"Due to the nature of this threat, as in its inside source, all currently registered Shinigami will be forced to go through a reevaluation as to better record their background and abilities. Failure to comply will mean dismissal from the Gotei 13, and an automatic sentence. All officers seated higher than Fourth Seat will undergo evaluation through the Central 46 themselves, and any other officer, seated or otherwise, shall be dealt with within the division once the higher officers have been cleared," Yamamoto paused, letting his words settle in the room.

Sober frowns adorned many faces, though Kenpachi and Kurotsuchi's were tinged with irritation. Not too far back, many would have spoken in annoyance, but with three of their Captains becoming traitors, they couldn't seem to open their mouths, and the air had gone serious, heavy with the somber understanding they had for this new necessity. None spoke out of turn, and merely waited patiently, as though they already knew that the Captain-Commander would have much more to say.

"Those checks will begin after this meeting, starting with the Captains themselves. Once dismissed, I ask that you send your second, third, and fourth seats here to the First Division, as we have already undergone the checks under the watch of the entirety of Central 46," nods were sent toward the First Division's Captain as he paused, and he took the moment to take a deep breath.

"Greater detail as to what the process entails will be given once the upper tiers of your Division have been cleared," he finished, leaning back and taking a deep breath. Exhaling through his nose, Yamamoto continued.

"As for the decision regarding the Visored," he began, watching as everyone in the group, especially those who closely knew the Hollowfied Shinigami, tensed. "After much deliberating among themselves, Central had decided that pardons shall be given for each Visored, and whether they return to the Living World or not is their decision."

Sighs of relief and slight pleased disbelief were audible, but so many of them were released, no one person could be picked out to blame. The Eighth Division's Captain looked especially relieved, though he pulled the brim of his hat down in an attempt to cover it up.

"Those that are injured are to remain under the care of the Fourth Division until able to make a decision," a nod was sent in the direction of Unohana, and she tilted her head. "You will decided when they are ready to make that choice," he addressed her, and she smiled lightly in reply.

"Until new Captains are chosen for the Ninth, Thrid, and Fifth Divisions, they will be monitored closely, as well as kept within Seireitei. The reformation and reorganization of the Divisions is most important to help stabilize the Gotei 13," the calm, business-like voice of Yamamoto didn't waver when Hitsugaya flinched lightly and Komamura turned his head to the side.

"The final piece of business I have to discuss with you involves similar precautions that are being set forth around the Divisions' currently missing a Captain," there was a pause as Yamamoto shifted into a position where his posture was even more perfect than before. When he spoke again, his voice rang out strong and with a hint of finality.

"Until all the Divisions are cleared, no Shinigami will be allowed into the Living World without special permission and only for closely monitored patrols. This is punishable as if it was treason, and the penalty will not be tossed around lightly. Any rule breakers will be executed immediately, whether they are Captain or lowly Academy student. After the Divisions are cleared, missions within the Living World, including patrols, will slowly be reassumed in normal patterns, though this process may take several months."

There was a hesitance, a pause, as all the Captains' eyes widened ever so slightly. Several stopped breathing, and others brows furrowed as the consequences of that decision sunk further in. Most of them were loosely related to a certain town, and a certain Substitute Shinigami.

As if sensing where the conversation was heading, the Captain-Commander, raised a hand to placate them, his dark eyes unreadable. Each Captain was studied in turn, and Yamamoto's eyes closed in a long blink before he continued.

"With that being said, even past that point, Central 46 has decided to cut off our ties with the former Substitute, Kurosaki Ichigo."

Those words created a varied response, ranging from slight tensing, to outright rage. Hitsugaya had his mouth open as if he wanted to argue, Kenpachi's gaze was deadly focused, and even Byakuya had a rather impressive frown on his face. The pressure had skyrocketed in the room as the Captains' unknowingly let a bit of Spiritual Pressure flood the room.

The hand that had been raised slammed back onto his seat, and every Captain flinched, tensing as the burning gaze of the First Division's Captain pinned them down. "I have no time to listen to your petty, pointless arguments," he coldly informed them, and the energy in the room quickly died down as they watched in disbelief.

"Central 46 has decided that now that Kurosaki Ichigo is without his abilities as a Shinigami, that he should be left to his own devices within the Living World," some eyes widened at this, and others simply darkened. Yamamoto noticed. "If you weren't aware already, during the fight against Aizen, Ichigo was forced to use up his reserves of Reiryoku, leaving him as an ordinary soul without the capabilities to sense us or Hollows."

"No contact shall be made with the boy, and no outside influence should enter his life. This is also punishable by the death sentence. Central has decided to keep tabs on him through his Substitute Badge, though information on his condition will be kept classified, unless otherwise necessary."

The angered heat of the room had dimmed into a disbelieving chill, and even the older Shinigami Captains' looked on in disbelief at what the Captain-Commander was allowing. Yet despite the turmoil he was causing among the Captains, Yamamoto looked both indifferent and unaffected.

"Are we so selfish, that we would steal his life as a human away from him?" he asked quietly, and everyone seemed to wither under his gaze and become lost in their own thoughts. Rising from his seat, Yamamoto looked down at them all. "What do we have to gain by stealing a sixteen year old boy from his life to begin with? Are we so weak?"

Turning on his heel, the man walked out of the room, haori waving in the air behind him as he strode from the room. On him, it gave off an air of authority, but in on them, it would have looked like a flag of surrender. They would not surrender for long, though.

* * *

** Kurosaki Household, Karakura Town, Human World**

Reaching up on her tiptoes to reach the top shelf of the fridge, Kurosaki Yuzu nearly collapsed in surprise when a hand lightly touched her shoulder and moved her out of the way. Looking to the side, the young brunette frowned at her twin, who rolled her brown eyes and reached up with much more balance and ease than Yuzu had.

"Here," mumbled the dark haired twin, handing her a bag of carrots that had ended up perched in the back of the top shelf, probably due to their father's odd eating habits.

"Ah, thank you, Karin-chan," the bright girl replied, shutting the door and turning to the counter where a cutting board and knife awaited her. Pulling out one of the carrots, she quietly washed it and began to peel it, bouncing lightly from foot to foot as if listening to music.

Sensing her sister's presence over her shoulder, Yuzu wasn't surprised when her typically quiet and outspoken twin pointed out the obvious. "Pork curry?" It was a quiet observation, and, under it, Yuzu understood the implied message.

Finishing up the first of the smaller carrots, the brunette smiled lightly. "Maybe if Ichi-nii smells his favorite meal, he'll finally stop sleeping. I know dad said he was really sick, but it's almost been a week, and only dad's caught him when he was awake."

Humming noncommittally under her breath, Kurosaki Karin looked around as if to amplify her question. "Speaking of, where is Goat-face?"

Yuzu blinked, pausing where she was finishing up the last carrot, and looked around herself, seeming to think absentmindedly as she did it. "I'm not really sure," she admitted sheepishly, frowning a little. "I think he said something about needing to work in the Clinic for a bit, he's been going back and forth all day."

"Ah," Karin nodded, hands sliding into her pockets as she turned and made her way out of the kitchen. Kurosaki Isshin had been more eccentric and flighty than ever lately, though, if Yuzu thought about it, they all were. Ichigo had been asleep for almost six days, unable to get out of bed with some nasty flu.

At least, that's what their father said. The one time Yuzu seen her dear brother, he'd been pale to the point of looking like a corpse, and his face had been flushed and furrowed restlessly. Their father had shooed them away whenever they attempted to visit him though, claiming that he was contagious.

Biting her lip, the brunette considered how long it had been since she'd seen her father. "Karin-chan?" She started hesitantly, setting down the knife and looking over her shoulder at her sister. The black haired girl had turned to look at her, and was watching closely.

"Would you go see if Ichi-nii is awake?" She asked eventually, deciding to ignore her father's request. Worry for her brother and her father's absence didn't reassure her any.

Karin blinked as if surprised, but then her expression softened with understanding. Nodding lightly at her twin, she turned and vanished up the stairs that led to Ichigo's room. The footsteps were light, relaxed, and unhurried, and Yuzu automatically smiled at her sister's soothing demeanor.

"Dinner will be ready in half an hour," she called after her sister, adding the carrots to the pile of peeled potatoes she'd already finished. Moving her cutting board and the knife off to the side, she moved to the rice she had boiling, stirring it a bit.

Silence answered her, and Yuzu blinked, looking up from her pot to frown. Karin at least _grunted _in reply to what she said. Stepping back so that she could see the stairs, Yuzu listened as the door to Ichigo's room slammed shut, jumping at the jarring noise.

Rushing footsteps could be heard, and then her twin was sliding to a stop at the edge of the stairs, face wide open with pure panic. It was the most expressive Yuzu had ever seen her indifferent twin, so she automatically paled, heart faltering.

"What is it?" She asked quietly, almost dreading the reply she would get. Panting heavily with what seemed to be confusion and shock, the dark haired girl took a moment to reply, licking her lips and shaking her head.

"Ichigo—" She gasped out, eyes wide and filled with disbelief, "He's not here."

They stared at each other for a long moment, before the sound of the front door closing caught their attention. They both turned slowly, seeing the horrified expression of their father as he stood removing his coat in the doorway.

"What?" He murmured, his face more solemn and _scared_ than the twins ever remembered him being.

"His room's empty," Karin responded numbly, starting down the stairs with hurried, steps, staring at the shocked Isshin hopefully. "Did you move him or did he wake up while we were at school?"

The question was answered in silence, and Yuzu's shoulders fell as her father ignored Karin's question with a pained frown, throwing off his white coat to hurry up the stairs with heavy steps. The girls looked at each other, listening in horror as the door was thrown open and then slammed shut yet again.

Without even looking at them, their father was out the door at a dead sprint, and that enough was to spur them into action as the girls hurried after him, unaware of what they were getting into, curry long forgotten.


	2. Hell is Constant, Life Ain't

**A/N: **Thank you for your wonderful support of the first chapter!

**[**Oh, and from here on out, the suffixes taichou, fukutaichou, and the likes will be used. These will mainly be used as a suffix (i.e. Ukitake-taichou), and when referencing to the general idea, Captain and Vice-Captain/Lieutenant will be used. **]**

Just a heads up.

* * *

**Chapter Two**

**_Hell is Constant, Life Ain't_**

* * *

**Urahara Shōten, Karakura Town, World of the Living**

"It's the same group as last time."

The words were spoken into unsure silence, and they rang with a sort of deflating finality that could be felt all through the room. Every hesitant fidget, every sharp and hitched breath, became loud and jarring in the room, unsettling its occupants.

As Shihōin Yoruichi uninterestedly let the curtain slip between her fingers and back into place, the dark shadows of the dusk room shifted, the jagged shapes casting even greater gloom over the seated figures. The purple haired woman heaved a sigh, spinning on her heels to waltz back to the center of the room and take her seat near Urahara Kisuke.

"Same patrol?" The blond mused allowed, head tipping so his entire face was hidden under the shadow of his striped had. His from was just visible though, a light and puzzled thing that was rather out of place in the somber tight-lipped expressions surrounding him.

"That's what I just said," the woman restated, leaning back on her arms and gazing absentmindedly at the ceiling. It was more for the purpose of avoiding stares she might meet accidently as her gaze wandered. It was a simple, but necessary, precaution.

Yoruichi wasn't sure if she could meet those kids' gazes anymore.

The way their unsettled Reiatsu flared and fluctuated, it was strange that no one had come to investigate why three talented humans, and one captain classed man, couldn't reign in their strength. It was understandable why they were so unnerved though, and Yoruichi frowned a bit in empathy as she thought.

"It's been a two weeks," the heated and tired voice of Kurosaki Isshin whispered, and he rose to his feet slowly, joints cracking from disuse. They'd been sitting in relative motionlessness for far too long, and it looked as if everyone was painfully stiff.

Sighing, Yoruichi flicked her eyes to the ceiling again, millions of already discussed possibilities running through her head. Every day she reconsidered, crossed out, and edited her list of ways that could possible explain the disappearance of Kurosaki Ichigo, just days after he'd defeated Aizen.

"And?" Kisuke drawled, his voice still good-natured. Under the light tone, Yoruichi could hear a familiar taint of sharp disapproval, a rare, but cutting thing for Kisuke. The blond was just as frustrated and restless as the rest of them, he was just better at concealing it.

The deep breath that Isshin took was violently visible, and his brow knitted together as he turned from where he'd been facing the door. The man's eyes were bright with unspoken anger and grief, yet Yoruichi found them easier to look at than the eyes of the Ryoka or Ichigo's sisters that first time they'd come. Both were desperate and helpless, understanding the problem but not knowing how to fix it or what its source was.

Isshin understood the implications of what they'd witnessed the past few weeks though, and the Shihōin Head knew that this was a long time coming. She just hoped that the shop was left unharmed.

"My son disappeared from under my own roof," Isshin deadpanned, though Yoruichi could see that he desperately wanted to strike out at the impassive shopkeeper, who'd tipped his hat up to meet the man's stare boldly. "He was barely even _alive_, and they _took him_."

Urahara's head tilted, and a brow rose. "Who are they?" He asked quietly, and from where Yoruichi watched with narrowed eyes, she could see the Inoue girl tremble uncertainly. Next to her, the imposingly silent one, Yasutora, lightly touched her arm, while Ishida Uryuu's eyes turned steely.

"Who else could it be?" Isshin shot back, throwing his arms up in something akin to resignation. His chest was heaving at this point, and Yoruichi found it curious. Over the time they'd spent debating over what might have happened to the orange haired Substitute Shinigami, the boy's father had only broken down—or come close—one other time.

Though, it was the night Ichigo had disappeared, so the purple haired woman supposed it was understandable. She remembered it quite plainly, how he'd practically beaten down the front door to the shop, nearly breaking Jinta's head open in the process, and demanding answers.

The man was sputtering as he'd yelled, water from the sudden downpour outside running freely through his hair and down his face, mixing harshly with the red of his eyes and the clouds of white breath that he huffed out.

Before Kisuke or she could have even grasped the situation, the two younger children of the Kurosaki family arrived, panting and shivering hard enough to chatter their teeth. The dark haired one had a horrified look on her face, her eyes haunted and jaw set similarly to Isshin's, while the brown haired girl quivered and ducked her head, eyes wide.

It was funny, how similar they all looked, Karin like her father, Yuzu like her mother, and Ichigo the stubborn oddball that completed the Kurosaki family. At least, that's what Yoruichi had thought after seeing the children for the first time, some ten years or so ago.

The rain might have hid the man's tears, for Yoruichi was completely positive the man was biting back some sort of grief, but it was obvious in the girl's, whose shivers were interrupted by hiccups and sobs.

A curious sort of dread had woven its way through her gut in that moment, and Kisuke had shown his apprehensive feelings plainly. The moment the family stepped into the house, their fears were confirmed, at least, to some extent.

Kurosaki Ichigo had been stolen out of his own home, right from under their noses.

It was a cruel way for him to be found missing too, his little sisters, whom had had no part in the war against Aizen, discovering a painfully empty bed. They were obviously worried, and, from the looks of it, had questions, but weren't sure which to ask.

The plainest fact was that he wasn't in Karakura. They had searched endlessly the past few weeks, wandering the streets, searching for any sign of Ichigo's presence. When there hadn't been any, they had attempted to reach out toward Soul Society.

Their messages hadn't gone through, and when no replies came, Isshin demanded that they go directly to Soul Society. Kisuke had argued against it, claiming that it was better to wait for a familiar face to pop up within Karakura. It was under the Thirteenth Division's jurisdiction after all, Kuchiki Rukia or someone equally as familiar would show up eventually.

That was the thought, but as time passed, no one willing to speak to Yoruichi came forth. They were unfamiliar, straight-backed, and followed patrol protocol to the letter, refusing to even acknowledge the Shouten's presence.

It was frustrating to say the least, but with only the remainder of Ichigo's group left to freely move in and out of Soul Society (they hadn't tried yet, but Yoruichi suspected that to be false as well) there was no way they could make any progress by going to Soul Society.

What was even more worrying was the fact that not even one of the Visored had return to Karakura or made contact with Kisuke. Considering the resentment a good number of them had against the Shinigami, even Yoruichi had suspected that one or two of them would come back.

In the nearly four weeks since Aizen's defeat, there had been not a single hint of their return to Karakura Town.

Outside, the dusk light was overlapped by tiny, flitting shadows, beating in time with the sound of the drizzle on the roof. Fall had come quickly, bringing with it cold and rain that seemed overwhelmingly depressing.

_"You know, it's a bit ironic._"

Golden eyes flickered to the side, watching Kisuke argue with Isshin but not really hearing any of it. Her thoughts were on what Kisuke had mused out loud after Isshin and the twins had finally been ushered out of the shop and back to their home the day Ichigo had vanished.

_"What's ironic?"_

Watching uninterestedly as Isshin raged out of the shop, followed forlornly by Ichigo's human friends, Yoruichi smiled sadly. She lay on the ground as the door clicked shut, stretching like the cat she sometimes was. A heavy sigh slipped from her lips, and Kisuke's eyes slid over to observe her, jaw tight with unease.

_"The world really has a habit of setting the mood for these sorts of things."_

An acidic laugh left her, filled with only a bit of humor in it. When Kisuke raised a brow at her in question, Yoruichi lifted a shoulder in a helpless sort of shrug before settling her arm behind her head and closing her eyes lightly.

"It really is a bit ironic," she mumbled quietly, nodding her head back toward the window where rain was striking more fiercely now. Even with her eyes closed she could feel Kisuke's expression twist, and could hear it in his entirely humorless laugh.

She remembered rain on days she wasn't fond of herself. The day she was left Soul Society with Kisuke and the other exiled Shinigami, and even that night after Byakuya and Renji had taken Rukia to Soul Society, leaving Ichigo near death.

Rain was such a fickle thing.

Outside, unfamiliar Reiatsu flitted by, completely detached and all the more foreboding as it faded into the storm. Opening her eyes to look up at Kisuke, she tilted her head in a way reminiscent of her cat form, like so many other of her habits.

"What were you guys arguing about, anyway?" She questioned, earning an exasperated noise from the blond and he rolled his eyes. Tessai appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, holding a tray of tea that looked tiny in the big Kido expert's hands.

Kisuke nodded in thanks as he took a cup, sipping lightly at the steaming tea. He hummed in appreciation before setting the cup lightly on the table. He watched quietly as Jinta prodded Ururu into returning to their daily work, pestering the girl through the hall with the handle of his broom.

Eventually, he turned back to Yoruichi, a small, rather unenthused smirk tilting his lips. "We argued about the same things as usual, Yoruichi-chan." There was a hesitation in the words that had her raising a brow in question, rolling onto her stomach and propping her head on her hands.

"Oh?" She mused, peering up at him sharply. There was weariness to his voice now, where before there had been reluctant obstinacy. He looked away, eyes on the brim of his cup as he lifted it to take another tentative sip. "It doesn't look like it was the usual argument though, Kisuke."

He paused, cup halfway from his lips as she spoke. Sighing, he set the cup once again on its respective spot, rising from his seated position to wander over to the window she'd peered out from not that long ago. He clucked his tongue, turning and lifting a shoulder in a shrug.

"It really wasn't that different," he informed her lingering at the window as he smiled at her. She raised a brow, not needing to voice her question as the blond returned to the table and was seated again nearly as quickly as he'd gotten to his feet.

"I almost agree with Isshin, though," Kisuke admitted as if sheepish that his opinions were being worn down. Surprise flitted through Yoruichi, before being replaced with curious suspicion.

"Not without reason though," she stated slowly, almost, but not quite, a question. The hidden inquiry elicited a chuckle from Kisuke, and his smile turned truer, tinted with fondness.

He shook his head in that mockingly humorous sort of way that only he had perfected. "Of course not," he scolded brightly, pulling down the brim of his hat and leaning back to peer at her from the shadow the lip created. "If I was swayed without reason, well… let's just say very bad things would have already happened," he tacked the last bit on in whisper, as if trying to be sneaky.

She wasn't fooled. "Out with it Kisuke," she cut in as he was finishing. "What are you worried about?" Her tone shifted from sharp and demanding to almost troubled, and she saw the scientist frown just slightly, the muscle in his jaw ticking.

"It's not right," He finally admitted, mumbling the answer as he rubbed a hand over his face, knocking his hat back to its original position. "That is to say, I feel as if something has gone horribly wrong, or at least, been entirely unaccounted for."

"Stop speaking in circles," she mumbled, though her thoughts were already whirling with the implications of what Kisuke had said.

"I do not believe the Hōgyoku's influence has vanished yet," he whispered ruefully, "I believe that it is only just getting started."

* * *

**Maggot's Next, Second Division Barracks, Soul Society**

It was funny how little time meant without light. Immeasurable in a cruel yet comforting sort of way, it contradicted its own meaning. It lurched, slowed, and then sped forward at the most inconvenient times, redefining its own purpose.

The lurches were hard to remember. The lulls were hard to forget. Yet they were nearly identical.

Over the time that Ichigo had been where he'd awoken after meeting the Central 46—again, immeasurable and achingly long—there were only a few things he could confirm to himself, and they were measly things, so insignificant that they really didn't matter.

He'd been in the same place the whole time, at least, he's pretty sure of this. Its dark, every move echoes—or is that in his head?—and it's always numbingly cold. It permeates through his skin, sinks its fangs into his bones, and makes that throbbing under his collarbone hurt and burn so much more.

He never hears anyone. There are no footsteps, no obvious ways out, no doors, and no impatient prisoners screaming obscenities down the halls, if there are halls. He is entirely and inexplicably alone, head heavy and body to light to control.

He's never entirely sure if his eyes are open or closed, staring into the same blackness whether in the cell or in his own mind, which had grown even more inhospitable with the addition of the collar around his neck, colder than the invisible floor he's sprawled out on.

Over time, he learned to sleep while he was awake. To slip out of that trained and now useless alertness to simply be, waiting for nothing and trapped for an endless—immeasurable—amount of time. Little things, a touch of something far off that scorched his skin and made his head pound in a way that it felt like the emptiness was being compressed, or a flicker of something like light, caught his attention.

Was it Reiatsu that was burning him, or his own eyes, staring blindly for so long that they began to burn and water?

Eventually, he figured that he was probably in his own body. Human one, that is, since he'd fall asleep hungry only to wake up with that ache he'd felt after beating Aizen, as if every bit of energy was gone and he was hollow. Whenever he fell asleep again, it was only to wake up with that human hunger, the pangs that told him he was, in fact, alive, and not perhaps rotting in hell, gone.

At one point, one of the times when that hunger had vanished, the pain in his chest and shoulder was so bad that he gasped breathlessly for hours, twisted up with an unfamiliar fiery pain that he felt he should be more used to. Compared to the numb though, it was agony on a new level.

When he was asleep, he remembered, and those dreams were more like life than what he awoke to. Yet, most of the time, his memories were simple things, flashes of comforting black, disconcerting white, and splashes of blood for good measure.

He woke trembling most of the time, though part of him, the rational part, said that was likely form the cold he was feeling. Yet, the cold was familiar, and so was the numb, and the most disconcerting things were not, in fact, the chill in his lungs, but the ache still burning in his chest, and the pulsing he felt in his hands, that sometimes clenched around a handle that was no longer there.

It haunted him, the quicksilver white eyes and the surprisingly soft gray ones that were no longer hovering just in the back of his mind. More than even when he'd beaten Aizen, he could feel that loss, the crevice—canyon—in the back of his mind that was now empty where before he hadn't even known it had existed.

The loudest things, besides the regret, guilt, wistful longing banging on his conscious, he could only hear the sounds of his staccato breaths, and the slow beat of his heart. It reverberated in his head, making it impossible to sleep sometimes, and making it easy to drift of in others.

It was simply a series of lulls and lurches at this point. Unstoppable and merciless.

There were whispers other times, not quite his own, yet not anyone else's, and they were like static, hissing and snapping for attention but not having anything to really say. Sometimes he caught his lips moving, though he couldn't always discern what he was trying to say to the empty air.

Usually, it was the word _sorry_, bittersweet and melancholic on his lips, part of the lulls that were sweet and slow. Other times it was disjointed exclamations, inaudible and desperate, words like _no_ or even _help_, and they were part of those lurches when his head spun even if he was staring at nothing.

Towards the latter half of what he remembered (could be correct, could be off by days, weeks, months, maybe even years) those whispers began to come in time with that pain in his chest, now a familiar part of life and the whimsy of time.

At first they reminded him of the touched of water on the banks of an ocean. He'd only ever been to the sea once, on a trip with his class back in the Human World—how odd it seemed, thoughts of those days—but he distinctly remembered the rise and fall of the ocean, something he'd been entranced and calmed immensely by.

The whispers went on like that for quite a long time, or at least, during one of those lulls where half the time Ichigo was thinking nothing and curled up in an attempt at sleep. No matter how much he slept, the weakness would not leave him, so that calming, sleep inducing sound in the back of his head was very welcome.

During one of the lurches where his dreams turned to nightmares and he slept and woke in equal amounts, the whispers grew louder. More like breakers smashing against rocks, a sudden hiss, and then the familiar lull of something akin to an exhalation.

It was never louder than the way he would sometimes hyperventilate after waking up, though, breathing so hard that for once the black turned to white for one dazzling moment before fading back, once again, to heartbreaking black.

The pain in his chest burned hotter now, tracing a restless path from the end of his sternum all the way up into the column of his neck, nipping, tasting, and moving on in an unsatisfied way. He'd always sweat when it was that bad, despite the cold that still assaulted him from the outside, while fire burned in his torso.

Words within the whispers were most distinct during those lurches of pain. A tone that might have been his but at the same time was probably not. Yet he was unsure of whose voice—still probably his own—pleaded endlessly in the back of his head. It was a mix of everything he'd ever thought, a high-pitched, almost wailing sort of voice echoing to him in a whisper.

_Please—help—sorry—can you?—way out—hurts—stop—please—where?—please—help_

Waves of a storm were crashing against his ears, framed by the rapid pace of his breathing as he curled in on himself, uncertain and aching in ways that he hadn't before. The weight of emptiness—surprisingly heavy and painful to hold up—pushed down on him, and for once, he knew that his eyes were clenched shut just as tightly as his jaw was as he hissed out breaths.

Again, flashes of wonderfully new white flashed behind his closed lids, somehow better and worse than the black all at once. His wrists, still chained together, raw from the bindings around them, clutched at his head, and the chain between his wrists banged forcefully on his forehead, but it was just a sting of cold against an inferno. Swallowed quickly and forgotten just as fast as the fire moved to new fuel.

It faded, eventually, to a dull sort of strain that had him more lifeless than usual, a sleepwalker in an endless hallway. He forced his eyes open, feeling his temples throb at the sudden change, despite the fact that he opened his eyes to darkness just as deep as when they were closed.

As he faded, he swore there was the sound of water hitting the floor, a soft sound in the lull.

Though, for the first time, it might just be him crying.

* * *

**Sixth Division Barracks, Seireitei, Soul Society**

The paperwork was never ending, and half of it wasn't really necessary, just produced by inefficient decisions and mistakes that weren't usually made. Kuchiki Byakuya was halfway to sending his Division back to the Academy, though half of him was puzzled by the sudden sheepishness of his usually by the book officers.

Ever since the retesting of the Gotei Thirteen, it had seemed that way for every Captain. There was more paperwork, suddenly tactless and brainless officers who acted as if they were fresh out of the Academy, and constant discontent.

Most Divisions had remained the same after Aizen's defeat, with the exceptions of the three newly vacated Divisions, Three, Five, and Nine, who had been without Captain's. They had seen the heaviest changes, though from what news had spread (gossip was still like wildfire within Seireitei) several lower officers of other Division's had been terminated and removed from their positions.

The Third's new Captain was a woman named Uchida Ayaka, who was just as unnerving as the Third's former Captain. Kira Izuru had stayed within his spot as Lieutenant, though anyone and everyone saw how uncomfortable he was with the change within his Division, most specifically the golden eyed Captain.

The Fifth had a new Captain and Lieutenant, since the testing had declared Hinamori Momo to unstable to continue work within the Gotei. This had caused more waves than anyone would have liked, especially in the Tenth Division, but little could be done. A lithe man by the name of Watanabe Atsushi had taken that Captaincy, and out of the replacements, Byakuya was most tense around Watanabe, as the man rarely spoke, to the point where few new what he sounded like. The new Lieutenant, on the other hand, was so incompetent that Byakuya had taken one look at the girl, and decided that she probably couldn't find her way out of Seireitei.

The Ninth was probably run more by its Lieutenant, Hisagi Shuuhei, than the actual Captain. The young dark haired Shinigami was more ragged looking than ever, rarely seen doing anything but rushing back and forth and doing mountains of paperwork. The man, Matsouka Ichiro, who'd taken Tousen's place, did even less than Kyōraku Shunsui did, and that was both disgusting and surprising.

Finishing the last a group of reports that needed authenticated, Byakuya set his pen in its mostly empty ink well, rubbing lightly at the headache behind his eyes and coming back into focus just in time to hear the knock on his office's door.

He'd felt the familiar Reiatsu coming the moment it had stepped foot into his Division, and it moved with both a purpose and an urgency that was strange these days. Both intrigued and somewhat apprehensive, he set his gaze on the door.

"Enter." The command was simple, more of an automatic response at this point than anything. Over the past few weeks, more people had been in and out of his office than the months before that—ignoring the scramble surrounding Aizen of course—and it was to the point where he truly considered bolting his door shut.

Not that it would work.

On the other side of the door, which was opened with a polite care that Byakuya appreciated when compared to his Lieutenant's wild entries, though they were few and far between, was the small figure of Kuchiki Rukia.

The girl showed her fatigue more than she probably should, though it was mainly in the darkness pressed under her eyes and the flat line of her mouth, but it was understandable. Ukitake Jūshirō had suffered a severe attack several days after Aizen's defeat, and he was only just recovered enough to do his daily paperwork.

Her promotion had been less meaningful with the work suddenly dumped onto her, but it was in the straightness of her back that she'd taken it all in stride. It was something admirable among many of the current officers.

Yet in her eyes now, other than that growing determination that had blossomed over the past few weeks was something more electric, almost like anticipation. It was in the sharp alertness of her violet eyes, and while it had been some time since Byakuya had last spoken with her, it felt like a rather dramatic change.

"Ukitake-taichou has requested that I bring this to you, as it concerns the Sixth Division's section of Rukongai." She bowed low in greeting as she said this, her formality in perfect line with protocol. He dipped his head in acknowledgement gesturing her forward.

"I take it that Ukitake-taichou has made a clean recovery, then?" He inquired as he took the folder from her, placing it off in a clean spot among his organized but swamped desk. He bit back the urge to sigh when he caught sight of the work that still remained for him, and instead focused on his adopted sister.

She nodded lightly, a soft smile unknowingly working its way to her lips. "Yes, his recovery was quicker than usual. Unohana-taichou claims that it is likely due to the way he was kept away from the stresses, since Third-Seats Kiyone-san and Sentarō-san can do any work I can't. Honestly, I believe they are better at the paperwork than I, but it is nice to have them when Ukitake-taichou is out."

Nodding, Byakuya's eyes lingered on the closed door. A long moment of silence hung between them as Rukia curiously waited for him to gather his thoughts. "The Third Division took over your work within Karakura, correct?"

The question was just a quiet thing, to confirm something Byakuya already knew. Still, he wanted confirmation from a source he knew would not lie, and as loyal as Renji was, his sources could be false.

Rukia blinked once, her smile dropping in surprise before her lips twisted in a displeased look. She nodded slowly, eyes seeming farther off than Byakuya's. "Yes, nii-sama. They took over our patrols within Karakura the moment Uchida-taichou was instated."

A light hum left his lips, and he nodded. "Thank you, Kuchiki-fukutaichou. Give Ukitake-taichou my thanks, as well my regards in terms of his recovery. It is good to know that his illness was conquered swiftly." The second part was an afterthought, but something he truly felt. With their Captain back to—somewhat—full health, the tension around the Thirteenth Division would ease.

Her face brightened a little at his words, and she nodded fervently. "Of course, nii-sama. I'll deliver your message as soon as I return. Thank you for your time." She bowed again, something she'd gotten into the habit of doing after she'd been promoted during the rebuilding.

As she left, and with it, took her snow soft Reiatsu, Byakuya looked out his office's window in thought. The cherry blossom tree, one of many on the compound, and somewhat of a secondary symbol of the Division, or, at least Byakuya, was bare, petals having fallen at the beginning of summer, and the leaves following recently.

No one had set foot in Karakura Town since the new Captains had been chosen, minus the Third Division, which had taken over the Thirteenth's jurisdiction of the area. It was strange, but as everyone's assignments—ignoring the Fourth and Twelfth Divisions, and possibly the Second—had rotated, it could easily be overlooked.

There was an unease left by that though, especially within the Captains, as many remembered Yamamoto's order to stay away from Kurosaki Ichigo. Byakuya supposed it made sense that a newly refitted Division, unacquainted with the young human, should take over those duties as they were most likely to follow that rule. Yet there had been nothing from the town, no news, no Hollows above the average wanderer.

It was strange when one took into account the high levels of Reiatsu many of the citizens' exhibited, although Byakuya supposed those reports could be swept out of sight for anyone other than the Third and First Division.

He'd expected at least some response, though, from the Visored, whom had all—surprisingly enough—vanished as soon as able. When taking into account some of their connections to the current Gotei, Yadomaru Lisa to the Eighth Division being a prime example, it was strange that not even a single word had been spoken as way of goodbye.

Byakuya knew that Kyōraku, despite the lazy way he smirked it off and shrugged, was unnerved by the disappearance. From what Byakuya knew and remembered, Lisa was very similar to the current Lieutenant, Nanao Ise, who, while often exasperated looking, would without a doubt at least have said _something_.

Another knock on his door, louder and more obtrusive than Rukia's, forced Byakuya to focus on a familiar Reiatsu that he'd hoped would pass by. The headache the paperwork had seeded was just two more knocks away from becoming a full blown migraine.

Before the door even opened, he called out.

"What do you need, Abarai-fukutaichou?" The question was almost as monotonous as his order to Rukia, but there was just a flint of irritation beneath it, which he quickly sorted out. Despite his typical thick-headedness, Abarai Renji picked up on those sorts of things.

It was part of the reason that Byakuya was so often annoyed by the man.

The redhead peaked in slipping through the door with a surprising amount of grace before quietly closing the door behind him. His shoulder lifted in a slight shrug. While his expression was a typical one of disinterest and boredom, his shoulders weren't as straight as normal, and gaze not as focused.

"Thought you'd want to know that the squad in West Rukongai's goin' to be late," Renji drawled, messing absentmindedly with the white headband around his forehead, covering both his hairline and the tattoos that were scrawled there.

Byakuya reached for one of the piles of paperwork recently completed, and leafed through it, pausing when he found what he was looking for. "They were scheduled to return this morning," he noted, before returning the papers to their rightful place.

Renji nodded, eye looking past Byakuya to the willowy tree out the window. "Seems there was more truth to those rumors than we thought, nothin' tough, but it'll delay them 'till either tonight or early tomorrow."

Sighing, Byakuya thought about the extra paperwork—newly required, of course—that would go along with this delay. "Very well, inform them upon their return that any sort of slacking on their reports will not be tolerated," he stressed it greatly, and Renji nodded once to show he understood.

Before Byakuya could banish Renji from his office, the redhead began playing with his headband again. It wasn't something the man did often, and Byakuya frowned slightly. Renji met his eyes for the first time since entering, and leaned back in a relaxed posture, head tilting back.

Pointing in the direction of the Thirteenth Division, Byakuya realized.

Sometimes, Renji's intuition was a brilliant thing, though Byakuya would ponder on that after the day's paperwork had been thoroughly thrown out his office window… or delivered properly to the First Division.

"Kuchiki-fukutaichou reported her Captain's recovery earlier when she delivered some paperwork," he informed Renji absentmindedly, noticing the way the brown eyes flashed with slight understanding. He tapped the folder lightly, nodding in the direction of Renji's office.

"I expect your work to be done thoroughly and correctly, Abarai-fukutaichou, as your fellow Lieutenant managed weeks running her Division and doing both her, and Ukitake-taichou's paperwork."

The remark was met with a grunt and a rueful smile as the redhead turned to the door. "Always findin' ways to remind me about paperwork, aren't ya Captain?" There was a speculative gleam in the man's eyes that told Byakuya that he was thinking about something other the paperwork though.

"Someone has to remind you," snapped Byakuya, to which Renji merely rolled his eyes discreetly at. The man nodded to Byakuya before exiting the room, and when his bright and energetic Reiatsu settled reluctantly in his office, Byakuya shook his head.

He'd need tea when he returned home, a lot of tea. Turning to his work, he nearly picked up his pen from its well before his eyes settled on the folder perched innocently on a corner of his desk. Curiousity getting the better of him and looking so much more appealing than his work, he picked up the thing.

Opening it, he found several reports surrounding the western area of North Rukongai. Flickering his gaze over them and frowning, he filed through the folder to see the singular paper at the end, a simple note scrawled in Ukitake's long and looping handwriting.

Taking a moment to admire the simply beauty of the words, something that was unique to Ukitake among the Captains, that is to say, his natural and rather surprising artistic talent, Byakuya shook his head.

Nothing good came of handwritten notes. Hell's Butterflies were much more commonplace, and by extension, less ominous, especially since Rukia hadn't even mentioned anything other than typical patrol issues.

_Kuchiki-taichou,_

_Recently, many of my patrols have been led astray by an unusually deceptive and strong Hollow's Reiatsu. It's forced them to work along the border's connecting North Rukongai to West Rukongai, and, as rules dictate, I must receive your permission to continue further._

_It would be greatly appreciated if a squad could be sent out that would contain members of both our Division's, as to increase our chances of tracking the Hollow down swiftly. Until I receive your opinion on the matter, I will not make any move, and, if you wish to talk in person, you merely need to ask._

_With respect, Ukitake Jūshirō_

Shutting the folder for a moment, Byakuya frowned. It was strange that a request had been sent, despite the fact that it was actually the required procedure, it was usually done with less detail as well, and the folder in the noble's hands was more than enough detail.

Pulling open the folder again, he read more carefully through the squad's multiple reports, which proclaimed that the Hollow, was, in fact, the same one every time. Throughout the reports, it was repeatedly stated that the chases left the Shinigami lost even in familiar territory and that it took them great amounts of time to recover from the disorientation.

Sighing, Byakuya tucked away the folder and rose to his feet. Staring dispassionately at the paperwork still on his desk, he mused that he probably wouldn't have that much time for tea that day.

Down the hall, he could hear Renji's snores, and decided that a detour would be made before he headed out to the Thirteenth Division's Barracks. He sorely doubted that it would sooth his headache, but he would at least know that he wasn't the only one with a pounding ache in his skull.

Some things never changed.


	3. Twist It

**A/N:** Thanks for your support!

Time in this chapter's a bit skewed; actually, it is in all of them. If you're really curious but can't figure it out, just ask, and I'll piece it together a bit next chapter!

* * *

**Chapter Three**

**_Twist It_**

* * *

**Zaraki; District 80, North Rukongai, Soul Society**

"This is ridiculous!" hissed one of the squad as they spun around another corner, peering through the cracks and alleys of a tightly packed village. One would expect that the bustling of shoeless and gaunt citizens could be seen—a horrible but typical sight—especially in such a large village. It was the largest in the 80th District of North Rukongai, and also one of the poorest Districts.

Hauntingly enough though, there was only them, their scattered breaths in the icy midnight air, and, even more chillingly, the taste of a Hollow Reiatsu on the air. It was a hovering hood in the darkness, made even more ominous by the new moon and utterly empty sky.

"How long has it been?" Asked one of the younger Shinigami between pants and tired breaths, his dark eyes almost like a cornered animal's, restless and unsure. There were similar looks on the faces of the rest of the squad, though most of them just looked on alert. It was hard not to keep up your guard when it felt like every breeze was a potential claw in the back.

"We started at dusk, to avoid as many of the villagers as possible," murmured the oldest of the group, a stiff postured man with graying temples. His hand rested on his sheathed Zanpakutō, much like the rest of the group, though the restless boy had his drawn. "But… I'm not sure of how much time has passed," he admitted, eyes flickering across the sky to try and guess the time that had passed.

There was a pause as one of the remaining three, two women and a middle-aged man, peeked around. Their movements were hesitant, and as they peeked in through cloth doors, their jagged shadows stretched sharply across the alleys, reflecting violently against the outpouring lights from quiet homes.

"It's strange," drawled the remaining man, pushing up his glasses with a slight frown. He let the cloth door slip awkwardly out of his hands and traded glances with the two women. His scowl deepened at what he found in their eyes. "Even in Rukongai, this far out, no less, there is typically at least a hint of uncontained Reiatsu, whether it's merely someone with potential or a monstrous anomaly."

"This… this is where Zaraki-taichou was first found… isn't it?" whispered the fidgety boy with surprise, as if just remembering the fact.

"Yes," answered the shorter of the two women, and the blond woman glanced up at her merely identical companion. She opened her mouth as if wanting to say something, but the whole group froze.

To the west, a flicker of familiar dark Reiatsu suddenly flared, moving away faster than it had the whole night.

"Shit!" Cried the woman, turning and taking off at a dead sprint, though she shifted to Shunpo as the rest of the group caught up. She hesitated for a second, before turning, the wild wind tangling her bangs before her panicked eyes.

"Sir!" She directed the words at the oldest man again, and his calm eyes looked on patiently. "We're coming up to the boundaries of West and North Rukongai, it would be best if you took over. You're more familiar with it than us from the Sixth!"

There was curt nod in answer, and the man suddenly appeared at the front of the group, quickly taking the lead as the others flanked him naturally. They ducked out of the quiet town into a forest that felt much more natural, though it was still dead silent. As they sped across the border of West and North Rukongai, they were forced to pause.

Where there had once been the unusually focused Reiatsu of a Hollow, there was only empty air, buzzing with the squad's tense energy.

"Damn it," muttered the man with glasses, walking up to the older man and pushing his glasses up, "Where the hell did it go now?" Now even he had set his hand on his Zanpakutō, his eyes flickering around as his shoulder moved with heavy but quiet breaths.

"Imai-kun," the old man barked suddenly, startling the most flighty member of the squad. The boy snapped to attention suddenly two inches taller as he straightened, his dark eyes focusing on the older man. "There is a reason Ukitake-taichou sent you with us. Prove that he did not place false faith in you, boy."

The stern words shook some of the shakiness from the boy's eyes, and his hands slid of his Zanpakutō. He nodded once, and then took a deep breath, eyes sliding closed for just a fraction of a second. He then moved to the front of the group, coming to a stop directly to the right of the old man.

"Have you found it?" The man quietly asked, sternness melting away into a respectful curiousity. The boy nodded. Placing his hands lightly on his lower back and stretching, the old man let out a grunt. "Very well, then let us head out."

He took a step forward, but was stopped by the bespectacled man, who placed a heavy and confused hand on his shoulder. "What do you mean, 'have you found it'?" The words were sharp, but mostly from ignorance, and other man let out a sigh.

"There is a reason the only unseated officer among us is Imai-kun." Responded the old man, patting the boy on the shoulder as the subject of conversation turned his face away quickly, "Imai-kun is a Kido expert, and he was offered a position in the Kido Corps, though he turned it down in favor of coming to the Thirteenth Division."

"Don't talk about it like I'm special or something," muttered the boy, starting off to the south, sniffling a bit. "I was offered one of the last positions they had, and it's only because I can sense Reiatsu."

"Still, that's a great skill," the bespectacled man muttered, rolling his eyes a bit as he followed after the boy. "I can barely sense other's Reiatsu, let alone track down a specific Hollow's."

"Yeah, it's got'a be pretty dang useful," drawled a raspy voice, high, keening, and not coming from any of the members of the squad. They all froze, and as they began to turn, the rumbling screech of a Hollow rang through the forest. "Though, only if you can track the _right_ thing, and realize what else is out there."

Before they could turn, one of the blonde's from the Sixth flew by, half gasping half screaming as she tumbled through the air. There was a pained grunt as she landed, but from her easy breaths, it sounded like it had just picked her up and thrown her. That was good, since they had more important things to worry about than injuries.

For the first time that night, a second Hollow's Reiatsu pulsed out right on top of them, and the original Hollow's signature was closing in fast.

* * *

**Fugai; District 75, West Rukongai, Soul Society**

The hiss of air as the Hollow vanished into air brushed across his skin, familiar like the poverty that surrounded him. It was nostalgic in the worst kind of way, Renji mused, sheathing Zabimaru as he peered around in the darkness. It was the wrong part of Rukongai, but once you got to the edges, it was all the same: dirt, hunger, and cold.

Sighing heavily, some much so that a cloud of white air hung in front of him, the redhead turned away from the town he'd just traversed through, taking to the forest with long, driven strides. Every breath burned his lungs, but it kept him alert, and that night he needed to be.

It was the first time in a long time that he'd been so tenaciously anxious for something. The new Captains, as well as the new system which the Gotei Thirteen acted on, had thrown everyone off kilter enough that things were only just getting to that feel of 'normal' again.

Brown eyes flickering about, the lieutenant of the Sixth Division clucked his tongue in distaste. Finding crap had never been his strong suit, but this mission was too important—to low key—for anyone else to take on. That and Byakuya would have his head if he screwed up, which meant by extension that he wouldn't.

It would have been easier if he wasn't searching in territory he'd never been through in his life, South Rukongai, even North Rukongai at this point, were pretty easy, though he'd be just as bad off if he'd have been sent to the East Districts.

Looking to the left, and then to the right, the man frowned, itching the back of his neck as he searched about with what little Reiatsu sensing skill he had. Not that the person he was meeting with would be stupid enough to let anything leak out, however easier it would make Renji's life.

Grumbling under his breath, the redhead leapt up into the branches of the nearest tree, soundlessly duking and weaving up so that he could peek out in every direction to find the landmark that should have been his guide. It took a few minutes and a lot of hesitant squinting, but eventually he spotted it, and dropped from his perch, starting leisurely off in the right direction.

He wasn't supposed to be there until the other squad engaged the 'Hollow', anyway. Keeping an eye on the path, his ear to the wind, and his other senses to taste out other Reiatsu, he continued on his way, enjoying the quiet that was now rare, even in the Sixth Division's Barracks.

Which he knew was wearing heavily on Byakuya's patience, which had been carefully constructed over the centuries the noble had been alive. Renji felt bad for his Captain, especially since the members of his squad seemed to have lost every year of experience they'd ever had, including what little they'd gotten in the Academy. That meant redoing and redoing paperwork, something Renji reluctantly helped with.

After, it wouldn't do for the dark haired noble to shred the entire Division. Yamamoto probably wouldn't let that slide very easily, especially with how strict he'd been since Aizen's defeat.

Cracking his neck absentmindedly, Renji thought about that strictness. It had kept the Eleventh Division constantly within Seireitei, something the redhead knew was eventually going to come back to haunt whoever had decided it. Already Kenpachi could be seen restlessly prowling the streets, expression downturned and eyes like a caged Lion's.

This strictness also kept any and all away from the most spiritually aware town in the Human World: Karakura Town.

There had been no news from anyone since the Gotei had filled back to Soul Society to lick their wounds. Renji knew Ichigo had survived, as well as the rest of the Human group, and the Visored, but he hadn't gotten any information from people he trusted.

After all, news passed from Urahara Kisuke was bound to be faulty in some way, even if the news as given right before they'd left the Human World. There hadn't been anything since, and anytime Renji had slyly brought it up to his Captain—nothing could be trusted—he was brusquely shrugged off, an indication that if Byakuya knew anything, he wouldn't divulge.

It wasn't just for his sake that he wanted to know though, Rukia for instance, had no way of asking around, since for the longest while her Captain had been too ill from the fighting to do his own paperwork. The bags under her eyes as well as Ukitake's were only just fading away.

The Tenth Division's Captain and Lieutenant also were curious, though the first would never admit the fact. Matsumoto had been louder of course, declaring her utter irritation at the fact that she never knew about anything anymore, which was practically blasphemous for the queen of gossip in Seireitei. She'd been quieter anyway, due to Ichimaru Gin's painful death and double agent status, and tended to cover it up with raucous laughter and more drinking than ever. Her Captain frowned more than scowled though.

Others mentioned in passing that they wondered how those Ryoka were doing—Hisagi, Kenpachi (as well as Yachiru) and others from the Eleventh— and a group from the Fourth and Eighth wished them well.

It was strange to be so disconnected and distant to a place that had once been a familiar place to traverse, and it was also strange to not have a reckless and destructive group weaving through Seireitei, led by a blur of determined orange.

"Damn it all," Renji muttered pulling at his headband a little in frustration. "Thinkin' 'bout this crap makes me feel old." His quiet words were swallowed in the night wind, and he was grateful for that, since he probably _sounded _old too.

Any of his old friends from the Eleventh would have given him shit about that comment for weeks. Actually _everyone _would have given him shit about that comment, but especially the Eleventh.

He was pulled from his self-pitying thoughts when strong Reiatsu—familiar to him, however Hollow tainted it was, flared in the distance both his entrance cue and signal that he was late. Cursing under his breath, he took off, heading toward another, tinier signature that flared under the cover of the Hollow's.

It was easier to keep in the right direction at Shunpo pace now that the Reiatsu was evident, and he made it to his destination quickly after the first wave of unnerving but helpful Reiatsu had washed over him. Sliding smoothly to a stop in front of the person he'd been set to meet, he stretched his features into an apologetic grin, saluting in greeting.

"Sorry 'bout that," he said, shaking his head a bit. "I've never been out this way before, the landmark was hard to find." But there it was the blasted away remains of a former Rukongai village, the ground still snow white from the energy that had bombarded it more than a century before.

"Don't worry about it," drawled his companion, grinning under the cloak of his hood so wide that the white grin was kind of creepy. Hand seated on the hilt of his Zanpakutō, he seemed to be concentrating on something, and waves of familiar Reiatsu flitted about, the remains of some sort of release. "You weren't around when the place became memorable, so I don't blame ya' for being late."

Renji raised a brow, and the man waved away a hand at the pointed look to his Zanpakutō.

"I helped keep the group up North busy enough that we don't have to worry 'bout time." The man's words were a drawl, much like the way the redhead spoke, but unlike Renji, it seemed the man had an actual accent, which turned his words into something lazier than Renji could ever manage. "Anyway, I got some news for you and those Captains waitin' to hear from me, but I don't trust written words now-a-days, so listen closely."

Renji frowned, but then nodded, listening closely. Off in the distance, the pangs and flares of Reiatsu made him anxious, but not enough to divert him from what he'd set out to do. Because he wasn't sure if he could take walking back to that new 'normal', and he wasn't stupid enough to believe that he'd been sent out to get normal information.

Something was wrong, and Renji wanted to know _now_. Luckily, the familiar stranger was more than happy to oblige.

* * *

**Maggot's Nest, Second Division Barracks, Soul Society**

There was something different this time. He knew that the second he managed to pry his eyes open and peer into the darkness, at least, he'd thought he'd opened his eyes, though sometimes he'd reach up to touch his face and realize his lids were still sealed shut willfully.

There was crispness to the air that was unfamiliar and pleasant enough to make Ichigo take deep breath after deep breath, just in case he never tasted air that fresh again. The collar around his neck felt uncomfortably loose, so much so that he couldn't stop shifting in an attempt to right it, somehow.

It was strange, since, usually, the air was dank and tasted of nothing but heavy chill, and the collar was usually so tight it was painful. Confusion flitted through his thoughts, pushing slowly through the thick haze in his mind, and he rolled himself into a seated position, panting with the effort.

A sudden chill on the back of his neck made his breath catch, and he hissed at the unpleasant sensation, automatically rolling his shoulders and looking around. Something about the blackness was almost… lighter, a nighttime sky lightened by the thought of dawn.

Mumbling incoherent nothings under his breath, the orange haired youth rolled backward to lay on the floor again, still more asleep than awake. In the back of his mind, those typical static-like whispers were calmer than usual.

Sighing, he was nearly asleep again when the murmurs ceased, and a voice—not his own—echoed softly, very much like the whispers. He blinked his eyes open, just in time to let them widen when he actually took in what the voice had said.

_"You'll be okay."_

There was a moment of disbelief as the voice, which, while sounding familiar, was entirely feminine and without a name to go with it, rang in his ears. Disbelief flashed across his face in the dark, wide-eyed shock.

After which he promptly burst into laughter, a rough, hoarse sound that was more similar to choking than actual hilarity, and it echoed in his ears like nails on a chalkboard, grinding and tuning out the whisper.

"I totally lost it, didn't I?" He choked out, chest still heaving with heavy laughter. His throat was raw with the effort, and his words were more muddled than eloquent. After he hadn't used his voice since the trail—however long that was—since he'd always believed only insane people talked to no one.

He seemed to be following that pattern nicely. It was hardly surprising, he'd simply been waiting. He'd known the moment that he woke to face a prejudice jury that the people who could save him were either unaware of his location or turncoats whom had betrayed him.

The thought was painful, that, after everything they—_he_—had done, after all, war is not kind, that they would just up and leave that in the dust as if it had never mattered. It was humanity traded for progress, with no bonds, no conflict, and no troubles.

Suddenly, what Aizen had done made sense, or at least, where he'd _developed_ those ideals made sense.

Chuckling to himself at the backwards irony of the whole situation, Ichigo stared up at what he supposed should be the ceiling of his cell, laying his head under his chained and numb hands.

He'd given up. He'd admit it to himself, when nothing but silence would answer him, even in his own head. There was no audible encouragement, no subconscious drive, because the situation was so different that he didn't know what he could do, if he could do anything.

In the beginning, he'd been an anomaly, a boy with power, potential, and determination beyond anything Soul Society had ever seen. He'd cut down Captains, one after another, and had nearly killed a man that was immortal and truly insane.

Yet, when he'd hit the ground after his own Reiatsu had shattered—_after his soul had shattered_—there had been a finality about it, as if Ichigo was expecting himself to die any second after that. Maybe it was just what he wanted, since there was a stark shadow over everything that passed through his mind now-a-days, like a dying tree looming over a home, just waiting for everything to crash down.

But now, he was alive, whether or not it was a good thing remained to be seen, and trapped. Every bit of Reiatsu that taunted him from insurmountable distances was like acid on his skin, making the nerves spring to life after they'd lain dead so long. It was exhilarating, excruciating, and very tiring.

It was almost like a drug, the way he'd craved the pain that accompanied something that he'd once had. More so though, it was a reminder of what he'd lost, and what he'd never had to begin with, more valued now that it was gone. There was little else to cling to, no light, no movement, and just those little flickers when he'd grown weak and achy and more than anything _hungry_.

Though what for was again a question with many unanswerable and unwanted avenues of answers.

He'd felt that flicker again earlier that day—or was it the day before? Maybe it had been mere minutes—and the sudden disappearance of that weight told him he wasn't in his human body. Though now, there was little difference between the two, both weak and useless and _empty_.

That last one was truer if one considered the irony in it.

Rolling over and curling his hands around his chest, he let out a shaky breath. It was burning again, like his heart had been set on fire, a slow, smoldering heat that didn't burn, just seared like a painful brand on his insides. Shuddering slightly, he almost missed that sound in the back of his head again, just a bit louder than those damn whispers.

_"We'll be okay, Ichigo_."

His shivers turned into raking laughter, something that was louder than the screams he'd managed after his nightmares. It was an echoing sound, sharp and see-through as shattered glass, and it hurt his own ears.

"At one point, _we_ might have made sense," breathed the boy face pushed hard against the ground to try and abate some of the pain he was fighting. Hard darkness pressed against his cheeks, unwavering and cold, the one true constant in hell, but just as unforgiving and unresponsive. "But that was when there was a '_we'_. When there was my family, my friends," he choked a bit. "Zangetsu."

The last bit was more of a desperate keen, as despair laced itself into his burning heart, and pushed against his skull like thousands of pounds of icy water. The image of his inner mind at that last second appeared in his mind again, and his eyes clenched, slamming it out.

He would not like through two different hells at the same time. He couldn't take it.

_"… I admit_."

It was the tail end of something, and at the end of the whisper, there was a spike of heat, almost like Reiatsu through his chest, something foreign, mingled with the familiar taste of those he suspected were guarding his cell.

"What?" he wheezed automatically, eyes rolling a bit as consciousness became impossible to hang on to. That heavy curtain, usually such a comfort to him, was so heavy, yet, for the first time, he didn't want to shut his eyes.

Even if he was going insane, it was different than the darkness. He craved that newness very much, and struggled even as he felt the blankness seep into his mind, and the pain in his chest numb once more. The whispers blended again, static in the back of his head, his own voice, and this new, unfamiliar one.

_"It will start soon, Ichigo. I promise."_

It faded to black, but that span was filled not just with black, but flickers of gold so bright that it felt as if he was staring into the sun, despite the fact that he could do so without hurting.

He didn't want to look away.

So, it was strange that the second he woke up, he was still staring at inky gold. He would have still believed himself to be sleeping if there wasn't that feeling of solidness and fullness that came after he'd been put back into his body.

Pushing himself up on his hands, he stared at it, curiously blank. Once he'd balance himself, he automatically reached for his eyes, just to double check that he _was_ actually awake. After nearly poking himself in the eye, he shut them, hard, and was pleasantly surprised to find that the light disappeared.

He wasn't imagining things; at least, he was pretty sure he wasn't.

So the next course of action was for him to reach out, with both hands because they were still bound together by something like ice, that he presumed was helping seal away his feeble remaining Reiatsu. As his hands neared it, warm energy caressed his palms, and the little light flared brighter.

Catching his breath, he pulled his hands back.

It was Reiatsu, but there was something familiar about it, like turning on a street you've travelled for years and then left for decades more before returning. It was like walking into an old house after moving, recognizing the changes and remembering with gentle nostalgia.

_"See. I promised you, didn't I?"_

A tremor waved through him, violet enough that he rocked forward, hands pulling too far about in an attempt to curl around his skull. They pulled apart when the unnecessarily heavy chains yanked them back, and the best he could do was curl his hands around his temples, wrists pulsing with warm agony.

There was a soothing sound, like the wringing of bells, and when hazy eyes peeked up blankly, golden hands, blurry, but with long fingers and graceful proportions had appeared.

He watched with a quiet awe filled sort of fascination, for, as those hands reached for his own, he could, for the first time, see his _own _hands, dirty, scratched and calloused, so ugly next to the other pair. They were surprisingly human looking, and he released a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding.

It was almost a relief, like he'd forgotten he _was _human.

_"It's okay._"

It was a whisper, and it was said as those golden hands, warm like Reiatsu and warm like serenity pulled his own hands away from his head, the chain of his cuffs jingling harshly, contradicting the soft and feminine words.

He watched tiredly as the small, lithe hands traced along the chains, and then alertness sprang through him. It was with wide eyes, irreproachably shocked and inconceivably hopeful, that he watched those damn chains clatter to the floor with a dull thud, nearly fading away as if they'd never been there in the first place.

Staring for a long moment and still not quiet comprehending what was happening, Ichigo's eyes flickered. Rubbing at his raw wrist and drawing out wave after wave of needle-like stings, he narrowed his brows, sight swaying and focusing with every beat of his heart.

"What?" He asked, voice raw with disuse and screams and things he wasn't sure if he'd cried or moaned out. His head was heavy, but he pulled his gaze up, meeting a pair of crystalline blue eyes so bright and pale that they looked like icy glass.

Yet they were warm, and they wrinkled around the edges to smile at him. He felt his face begin to crumple under the soft weight of that gentle look, and he swayed forward a little bit, eyes finally taking in the rest of the figure that was for gold than anything.

Hair the color of spun gold trailed out along the floor, the same color as that light—_Reiatsu_, he remained himself again—and curled around the both of them, endlessly long and moving like a river of light. It sparked, flickered, and was distracting, like the stars and moon on a black backdrop, distracting him from the rest of the face.

Pale skin, touched in gold, of course, up tilted, almond eyes, thin elegant brows, wide and smiling lips; he cataloged the features, filling them away as he once again met the eyes of the beautiful woman sitting in front of him on her knees.

"Who are you?" he murmured, leaning back a bit, but relenting when she reached for the collar around his neck. He shivered when velvety fingers brushed across his Adam's apple lightly, and his eyes closed in a half flinch.

Her eyes showed empathy, kind concern, and slow burning grief as she pulled away the collar from his neck, but he couldn't think about that. The damned thing was finally _off_.

Reverently, his hands rubbed along his neck, warmth blooming under the friction, and he heaved another deep breath, feeling, for the first time, stable again. Not aching under a blizzard of empty numbness, waiting for sleep to swallow him.

For the first time in a long time, he didn't mind that he was awake, or that, besides the glowing entity sitting in front of him, he was in a dark cell. The dark didn't seem so deep, and the ground didn't feel so rough under his palms any more.

Lifting his eyes to the smiling, ethereal woman, he pulled his hands away from his neck, ignoring the anxious beating of his own heart in his chest. It was a bird eager to flee its cage, and its incessant chirping was echoing in his ears.

Her laugh covered it, soft and low, but like a flood overpowering his senses. Relaxing just a bit, he watched curiously as she rose to her feet something that looked like a pale blue kimono flowing around her ankles were her hair didn't, silk and shining like waters under sunlight.

_"I am… pleased to meet you once again, Kurosaki Ichigo," _she greeted, her lips moving even as her voice seemed to reverberate from every direction, and he watched as she bowed low to him, her hair covering her expression. _"I am…_" She paused, seeming to consider it, _"A very old friend of yours, I met you when you were… much younger. I suppose you don't remember me."_

The orange haired boy frowned a bit, and then, as if as an afterthought, rolled onto his hands and knees before clambering unsteadily to his feet. Vertigo swept over him, but he stubbornly kept his feet, fearing that if he fell again he wouldn't be able to get up.

As if sensing his inner struggles, he suddenly found himself propped up against the shoulder of the woman, her body warm under his arm as she slung it over her shoulder. He looked at her in surprise, but couldn't help it as he leaned against her slender and surprisingly strong shoulders.

_"You may call me Hana,"_ she told him lightly; she then began pulling him in the direction of what he assumed was the door to his cage. As they began to move forward, steps slow, lurching and difficult, his foot collided with a heavy obstacle, but it slid forward under his foot. Looking down, he saw the collar he'd worn, and he kicked it aside vehemently.

"I feel like that isn't your actual name," he muttered dryly, though the words were still painfully gravelly and blankly spoken. He felt her hesitate, and he flicked a gaze to the side, noticing for the first time the blue cord braided into her hair and tucked behind her ear, golden charms dangling from it.

"_It is not,"_ she responded truthfully, "_It's a nickname. Someone very close to me gave it to me."_

There was nostalgia in her voice, tinted with longing and faded with what looked like age old thoughts. Something hesitant curled in his chest, taking root and twisting his lips with concern for this painfully familiar stranger.

"Why… why are you helping me?" The question was a painful one, but a necessary one. Everyone he'd thought would come to help him, _save_ him, (_they owed him that much, right?_) had not come, others likely didn't know where he was and others…

Swallowing, he tried not to think about all those whom had likely turned their backs on him, betraying that loyalty forged through war, something he'd thought was unbreakable. It was extremely painful to think about.

He could feel eyes the color of a frozen sky on him, and they flickered a warm blue, like bubbling streams, as her eyes narrowed, shadowing the piercing irises. She paused for a moment, shifting his weight so that she could reach out her hand into the darkness. Ichigo could still see no end in sight to his cell, like they'd set him in a labyrinth where he'd never even find the next turn.

_"There are many reasons that I came to you, Ichigo," _she started slowly, drawing out the words as if she was still sorting them out in her own head. Her lips pursed, and her narrowed eyes softened, furrowed brows relaxing. _"I came because I finally could. I came to relieve myself of guilt I've carried for too many decades, and I won't fail again." _

Determination hardened her formerly longingly quiet voice, steeling it with resolution that was comforting. Her calm and steady resolve was something he'd never been subject to before, and he nearly lost his breath as relaxing relief flooded through him. The only other time he remembered feeling that supported was after his mother had been killed, and he'd spent hours crying into his father's shoulder, tears mixing with the mournful downfall.

He wasn't sure how to take it, and wasn't sure if he could.

There was a pause as Ichigo hesitated, mouth open as if trying to put together the right question. His brows were knitted and his tired eyes watched her with hazy alertness.

_"Mostly though_," she tacked on, interrupting Ichigo and smiling lightly up at him her eyes closing earnestly as she finished. _"I'm helping you because I want to, Ichigo."_

The bluntly candid answer had Ichigo balking uncertainly, as, while he'd felt better than he had in—_how long had he been there?_—whenever, he was still achingly tired and felt horribly weak. It was hard to string together two words, let alone a whole sentence.

So he settled for watching her open her curled fingers so that her palm was lifted to face the wall of darkness, her arm parallel to the ground. Her kimono's sleeve, an unusually wide and large one, dangled just below her knees, and the charms tangled in her hair and braided into her obi chimed as that golden glow focused on her palm.

"What… are you doing?" He murmured slowly, blinking and leaning on her as that ache in his chest returned. Her other arm, tucked around his back and settled on his side, squeezed him as if she sensed his discomfort. The air felt almost too thick to breath, and his head was light again. He leaned on her further.

_"The cell is locked." _She mumbled the energy in her palm gathering into a tiny and blaringly bright point. It looked more like glass than it did gold, and Ichigo blinked.

Of course, the first thing that popped into his head is what he said. "How'd you get in here then?" The words were slurred and he shut an eye against the pain, probably making an ugly, discontented face, but he didn't really care. He shakily ran his hand through his hair, gripping at his hair and ignoring how odd it was to not have to move both hands at once.

Honestly, it felt like he could stretch his arms out and touch both ends of the vast cell, but it was not a steady, free feeling. He felt out of control and like the floor was too far from his eyes, and that if he tried to move on his own, he'd trip over things that weren't there.

So the pain in his chest was a singular thing, no longer spreading through his rib cage or down his arms to his fingers, and he clutched at it watching with fascination and a disconnected unresponsiveness as that clear energy spread back along her hand, turning the limb transparent.

Her piercing gaze slid back over to him, lips tilting up into a smile that was strangely terrifying and familiar. As if reading his thoughts, or possibly his expression, she burst out laughing, the tinkling noise distracting him from the fact that her entire arm was now as clear as still water.

_"I have my ways, Ichigo."_ It took him a second to realize that she was responding to his earlier question, her soft lips tilting into a sly and secretive smirk that was more mischievous than anything he'd ever seen.

Then there was nothing but an awful, wonderful blast of wind and endless light.


End file.
